


His Woman

by z0mbieshake



Category: Mass Effect
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, F/M, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Love/Hate, Psychopathology & Sociopathy, Tragic Romance, Violent Sex, Xenophilia, violent relationship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-18
Updated: 2015-12-18
Packaged: 2018-05-07 09:29:06
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 14,562
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5451758
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/z0mbieshake/pseuds/z0mbieshake
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>Deep down, past the fire and heat, past the poison and smoke, Saren could see it: A pain deep down in her soul that was the same as the one deep down in his. Perhaps that's why it all began, not because of Mindoir, not because of their sinful tastes, but the cold, heavy pain of loss and the unrelenting grudge that came after.</i>
</p><p> </p><p>An origin story where two renegades cross paths much sooner than expected.</p>
            </blockquote>





	His Woman

**Author's Note:**

> It only recently occurred to me that Saren is only 44 at the start of Mass Effect (Which would make him roughly 37 during this fic), which actually skews a bit of my age dynamic especially when Sparatus is talking to Saren. I'd imagine this makes Sparatus older than Saren at worst. I apologize for this continuity error and please imagine Saren to be at least in his mid-forties during this fic!

"My god," Nihlus murmured, nearly covering his mouth in disgust. The young Turian soldier was still too green for a mission of this calibre but Saren had persuaded his commander to let his protégé join him.

The report was garbled and short but clear enough for them to know what had happened: A Batarian Slaver raid on Mindoir, a human colony. The mission was nothing special save for the _brutality_ of the slavers which somehow called on the Council to send in a Spectre to monitor the assault. Saren knew this was a waste of his talents, they all did, but the Council knew few soldiers would be able to stomach the sheer brutality of the attack.

Saren growled in disgust, looking over the naked corpse of a mutilated guardsman hanging from the ceiling like a demented puppet, "Batarians," Saren hissed. His hatred against humanity could only be exceeded by his hatred towards this disreputable race.

"Raiders!" One of his scouts shouted, all of them except for their Spectre leader taken shelter as three raiders rushed out of an alley with assault rifles.

Nihlus sputtered when he noticed Saren simply standing in the open, "Saren!"

One hand raised, a shimmering pulse of energy erupted from Saren's hands, blocking every bullet before he raised a simple pistol and shot down every raider before they could find any cover. His team was in awe, blinking dumbly where they crouched as the Spectre stepped over the corpses towards the trembling, still-alive Batarian cowering in the back.

"I surrender!" The Batarian slaver cried, lifting his hands in supplication. Saren quickly noted that his gun was still loaded and sitting suspiciously close beside him, "Spare me and I'll tell you where the rest of us are!"

Saren said nothing as he pointed his gun between the Batarian's multiple eyes and pulled the trigger.

"S-Sir!" Nihlus shouted, leaving cover and running up to him, "Are you injured?"

Saren put his pistol away, wiping away the blood splattered on the barrel, "No."

"With all due respect, Arterius, that was unnecessary," One of the scouts said, approaching Saren with his assault rifle in his hands, "He surrendered. We had no reason to kill him. If anything, we could've gotten information out of him."

Saren didn't know if he wanted to laugh or snarl at the idiot. He cast his eyes upward, noting all the corpses hanging from the ceiling like used piñatas. These were menaces, raiding colonies, killing off the unprofitable like cattle. The slaver's life was not worth preserving.

"You can always find a reason to kill," Saren replied plainly. Even if the reason wasn't obvious to _fools_. His omni-tool hummed suddenly. He lifted his arm, tapping at the interface, "Status report."

"We've secured the vessels. It looks like we've taken care of the last of them. Only stragglers are going to be left around here," The infiltration team leader replied.

"Good, round up the vessels. Meet us at the extraction point," Saren replied, deactivating his omni-tool as he waved his team forward, all of them following closely as they stepped over the Batarian corpses.

A clatter sounded in the air. Saren already had his pistol out, pointing down a narrow alley. His finger twitched, his eyes narrowed, as a young girl stepped out from the rubble. Nihlus and the scouts were startled by the dilapidated girl, no more than a teenager, splattered with blood and bruised all over.

"Looks like they missed one," Nihlus said, lowering his gun, "It's safe now. We've taken care of the slavers," He halted when Saren lifted his hand, blocking him, "W-What?"

"Leave her," Saren muttered, voice low, "An Alliance vessel will handle refugees. Our job is done."

His team went on ahead, led by Nihlus, while Saren stayed back for just a moment. He eyed the slavers he had slain, noted how lightly armored they were. He looked back at the human girl, covered in blood without any visible flesh wounds minus bad bruising, _ambushed_ in an alley by slavers. He snarled under his breath. There were few things he despised more than humans but _this_ was certainly one of them.

"Arterius," The girl whispered, voice cracking and weak.

He looked to her, snorting with amusement, no doubt repeating his last name noted by his team. He enjoyed a first-name basis with Nihlus and unlike the fools who feared vengeance against enemies who knew his personal name, Saren had no such fear.

From his belt, he tossed the girl a spare pistol, a pity gift for her sorry state. The girl stared at it dumbly, unsure what to do as a traumatized colony girl would, "Pick it up," Saren commanded briefly before turning away and returning to his team.

 

**Seven years later…**

"To Nihlus!" A young Turian soldier announced, raising his glass and cheering to the pounding music at Chora's Den, "Congratulations on becoming a Spectre!"

"To Nihlus!" The soldier repeated, humans, Turians, and Salarians alike, all employed in the army and friends to Saren's impressive, charismatic apprentice.

Chuckling humbly, ducking his head in appreciation, Nihlus stepped in front of the crowd, taking a shot quickly as his friends cheered him on, "Thank you all for making it out here today and throwing me this fantastic party," He chuckled again when one of the women working in Chora's Den blew a kiss his way, "But first, before the party really starts, I want to thank the person who made this happen: My mentor and top-ranking Spectre, Saren Arterius!"

The club erupted with applause and cheer but the "old man" at the bar paid it little mind. He raised his glass but did little else. Chora's Den was a tasteless organization that attracted the most vile of customers. His protégé was still young, still brash, and his friends figured this would be a fun place to celebrate. Saren, however, would have none of this.

Still, this was his apprentice and he figured that he owed him at least some leisure. While he was utterly repulsed by how they floundered about with the exotic dancers, he could at least find some fun with free drink and the makeshift shooting range. Somehow, Nihlus was able to convince Chora's den to clear up a section for them in the main area and set up empty bottles all along the walls for shooting.

"Beat that, Saren," Nihlus announced, shooting down three bottles in succession.

Saren chuckled lightly at his precocious apprentice, utterly unlike himself when he was young. He downed another shot of alcohol, the finest he could find at such a shabby establishment. Slightly tipsy but still able, Saren took his pistol, an older but more reliable model he had received a few years back, watched Nihlus's comrades line up six bottles, three for Nihlus and three for him, turned off the safety and shot his bottles so quickly, Nihlus didn't even have time to cock his gun.

"Easy," Saren replied, a smirk on his aged face.

Nihlus bowed exaggeratedly, clearly tipsy as he waved for another drink, "Who wants to take on the champ next!"

"I'll take a shot."

The crowd turned their heads to a young woman dressed in Alliance colours. She certainly wasn't one of Nihlus's friends and judging from her attire, she appeared to be a solider-in-training, a rookie. Saren huffed at the sight of her, offended that a _human_ would dare challenge him even in jest. Although, her dead-eyes and hollow expression showed no such light-heartedness.

"Saren! Saren!" Nihlus chanted along with his buddies while said Spectre stood beside the human woman, "Sare-"

Shots fired, all six bottles exploded into pieces with shots so quick, it sounded like only a single gun was fired. However, Saren only shot _twice_. Enraged, the alcohol making his mind spin, he glared at the woman beside him with subtle rage. The closed-up expression remained on her face, her eyes still resembling a corpse's, she backed off, returning to her lone table in the corner.

"She's pretty good," Nihlus commented, completely unaware that the stranger had outgunned his mentor. Saren had no intention of clarifying this, simply returning to his seat and confusing his apprentice with his sudden grouchy attitude.

The party lasted throughout the night, the shooting range eventually closing down when there were more holes in the walls than there were broken bottles. Saren had let himself sober up, sitting at the bar and letting his petty grudge fester as he continued shooting glances over to the Alliance rookie. He clicked his tongue, irritated, unable to comprehend how she had beaten him.

Saren narrowed his eyes when she took out her pistol, deactivating it before taking it apart to clean. Even from afar, Saren could tell that it was a Spectre-issued pistol, the HMWP-03, one of the first pistol models he received when he started as a Spectre. _How did a rookie acquire such a weapon_? It was illegal for Spectre's to distribute their arms.

Using this as the perfect excuse, Saren stormed over to the Alliance rookie, towering over her. Her empty eyes flickered upward from her gun, staring at the Turian fearlessly, "It is illegal for a Spectre to distribute authorized gear. Who gave you that weapon?"

"Arterius," The woman greeted, voice low and steady.

Saren scoffed, "Answer the question."

Her eyes flickered down, cleaning the barrel with a napkin, "A Spectre," A fist slammed down on the table. She looked back to Saren, slight irritation reflected in the creased around her narrowed eyes.

"So this Spectre taught you how to shoot?" Saren said.

"No," She replied, putting her gun back together and holstering it, "So that's what this is about," She was too close but Saren refused to back away. Her breath carried the scent of light alcohol, no indication that she was drunk, "I'll be outside."

Sobered up, his rage more contained but still aggravating, Saren slipped out from Chora's Den shortly after the woman left. He reasoned with himself that he had only accepted the woman's offer because he was sick of hanging around that polluted establishment. He found her outside, as she described, playing with her gun in front of a row of bottles perched against the wall. C-Sec would be all over the place when they saw the gunshots.

The woman looked to him, her face looked more pleasant somehow now that the booming music and sweaty crowd was gone, "Arterius. Come to lose again?"

Saren snarled, withdrawing his pistol, "You humans are always so arrogant," He nodded to her pistol, "That pistol is Spectre-authorized gear."

"So it is," She replied, "HWMP-03, older model, less stable but faster shot."

He narrowed his eyes, unimpressed by her knowledge. He wasn't here to talk, he lifted his pistol and their game began. Sobered up and fueled by petty anger, Saren matched the Alliance rookie. Once again, shots were fired so quickly, no one could distinguish the sound of one gunshot from another. Seconds later, pistols lifted into the air, Saren scowled at the results.

Nineteen bottles, eighteen on either side of the middle bottle all matched with a single bullet except for the center bottle which was matched with two. There was no way to tell who had fired first but it was clear both had reached the middle at the same time. The rookie hadn't beaten him but most importantly to Saren, he didn't her.

He let out a vocal snarl, whipping away in disgust, hating how he was bested by a filthy human. The rookie said nothing, nodding to the Turian Spectre before walking away quietly, her _victory_ in mind.

 

It was no trouble for Saren to request the Alliance records for new recruits. The woman was in darker colours, more stripes along her sleeve, no doubt to be in training but nearly at the end. As he pulled up the records, Saren huffed at the sight of her picture, her empty expression a dead giveaway.

" _Shepard_ ," Saren said, sitting back in his chair and folding his hands.

Her record was unclean, filled with reports of violence and excess brutality, but _impeccable_ for a rookie with the highest ranked potential amongst all her colleagues. He was quick to note that she was already taken on missions despite her status, always as backup but still notable.

Saren dismissed her right away, shutting her record. A young human woman with a Spectre weapon, no doubt trained by a Spectre whom she persuaded illicitly. Humans were always so quick to vulgarity to get what they wanted. He pulled up his records once more, this time going through the registry of active and inactive Spectres. The HMWP-03 was issued in his time, the model was decommissioned long ago so whoever lent it to her must've started the same time he had. As soon as he caught them, he'd have the fool and his pet thrown out of the Citadel.

He scanned through the weapons' registry, noting that he would need the serial number of such an old weapon to search for it. He opened up his armory with his omni-tool, pulling up the rack of pistols and sorting through them, slowing down when he realized _it wasn't there._ Had he thrown it out? He switched to his assault rifles and shotguns, noting how he had kept both the HMWA-03 and the even older HMWSG-01. There was no way he had returned his old pistol, which meant…

_The stench of bodies, a bloodied, broken girl standing alone in an alley amongst Batarian corpses. Her name on his lips, a gun tossed in front of her out of pity._

No way. Saren pulled up the records once more, pulled up the psychological profile, "A trauma suffered in Mindoir," The mutilation and death of her family and friends explaining her years of violent behaviour and emptiness. A _renegade_ by circumstance, "Arterius," He muttered, remembering her first words to him in Mindoir and at Chora's Den.

 

"You asked to see me, sergeant-" Shepard stepped into the room, stunned but stoic when she saw Saren in the office, arms folded, "Arterius."

" _Shepard_ ," Saren replied, "You were that girl on Mindoir."

He swore he saw a smile on her face as she spoke, "You remember."

"That pistol was _mine_ ," He muttered, "It was an old model. Thought that pitiful girl deserved some sort of protection."

Shepard pulled away from him, pouring herself a cup of water absently as if the high-ranked Spectre had not specifically pulled her out of training to speak with her, "The firing rate is better."

"Excuse me?" Saren growled, unable to realize how petty his grudge was.

"HMWP-03 is less stable, less safe, and more likely to backfire or overheat," Shepard explained, "Later models traded in firing rate for improved safety," He noted the pistol attached to Saren's hip, "Advanced models are overall superior but old habits die hard and you still use your standard gear from the Quasir mission."

Saren ticked his head, eyes narrowing, "How do you know of the Quasir mission?" He approached slowly, intent on towering over her.

"-Where you sent half your men to die in a suicidal distraction while you and your private team infiltrated and saved the Asari ambassador while simultaneously destroying the enemy bio-weapons," Shepard continued, hands resting against the table behind her as Saren closed in, "Bio-weapons based off the terminal Ahok Fasciitis disease."

Hands rested against the table, trapping Shepard between them while Saren towered over her with his overwhelming presence. To his expectation, Shepard wasn't intimidated in the slightest even by the scowl on his face. If anything, she looked _seduced_.

"Two rules," Saren muttered, "Never kill someone without a reason. Second rule."

"You can always find a reason to kill someone," Shepard finished his most famous words, circulated amongst the Spectres and concerned politicians.

Saren chuckled darkly. _He had a fan,_ how charmingly disgusting, "Humans are disgusting," He snarled into her face, backing off and making his way to the door.

"Get the job done, no matter what the cost," Shepard shouted to him, "And if you happen to enjoy it, there's nothing wrong with that."

The words nearly stopped him. Saren wouldn't drop the smirk on his face but he wouldn't let Shepard see it either, "And here I thought all humans were stupid."

 

This was stupid and wrong. She was a human yet here Saren was, _hacking_ her computer through his omni tool and sifting through the contents. He chuckled when he found a virtual copy of Fornax featuring Turians. If nothing else, this was at least amusing. A knock came at his door, he immediately shut off his screens, opening the door from his desk.

"Nihlus," He greeted, "What brings you here?"

"I just wanted to thank you again for vouching for me," Nihlus said, bowing to him, "I also didn't expect to see you at Chora's Den. That was honestly a surprise to me."

Saren's reasons were not entirely selfless. He had to keep an eye on his apprentice. Had Nihlus made a fool of himself at Chora's Den of all places, it would reflect poorly on Saren, "Is that all?" Nihlus nodded, saluting him before turning back to the door, " _Wait_."

Nihlus paused, looking back at Saren, "Yes?"

"What do you know about the Quasir mission?" Saren asked, wondering if his apprentice knew of one of his first missions.

"It was an anti-Asari terrorist faction. You led the unit. It was believed all goals would be impossible: Rescue the ambassador and dispose of the bio-weapons but with a great casualty, both goals were accomplished and the faction was stopped," Nihlus repeated as if from a textbook.

"And? What did you think of the result?" Saren asked.

Nihlus was confused by Saren's intent but diligently answered his mentor, "Admirable but I do lament the number of lives lost. Brutality is your trademark but I hope it won't become everyone's."

Saren remained stoic to hide the subtle disappointment, "You're dismissed," He said, waiting for the door to completely shut before activating his screens again.

With enough searching, he was eventually able to find a 'virtual shrine' of sorts, articles, pictures, blasted interviews with a human reporter he nearly punched in the face. he found military records as well, no doubt accessed through the Alliance databanks. Admiration, had Saren been a celebrity, perhaps she would have called herself "Saren Arterius's biggest fan!", but he was a Spectre and had little time for this type of endearment.

He shut the folder, letting this pass as simple amusement for a slow day. Before he severed the connection, his eyes landed on the latest virtual copy of Turian Fornax on her desktop. He narrowed his eyes, remembering a rather ill-conceived time in his life when he decided to feature on a copy of Fornax in his youth before the weight of being a Spectre finally hit. He swore he used all of his resources and knowledge to wipe the copy from exist-

"Goddamn it," He growled, seeing that exact copy during his search.

This is exactly why he wanted to keep an eye on Nihlus.

 

A blip came from Saren's omni-tool. Confused at who could be contacting him, he tried not to let the surprise slip from his stoic expression as _Shepard's name_ appeared on the message: _You deleted my copy of Fornax._

Saren snorted, shutting the message. He was on his way to a diplomatic mission in Noveria. He had no time to deal with this petty _human_.

A second blip came: _Whatever. I printed a physical copy._

Tapping back a quick message: _Destroy that copy at once or I will destroy it personally._

Shepard didn't reply and somehow, that infuriated Saren. He was the highest ranking Spectre and he _will_ be respected by some low-life human stalker.

A third blip: _No._

"Humans," Saren growled, shutting off his omni-tool while Nihlus stared at him quizzically.

"Shepard was promoted last week," Nihlus said, sitting beside his mentor in the drop shuttle.

" _What?_ " Saren growled, "How do you know what name?"

Nihlus blinked twice, "Everyone's talking about it. She's one of the fastest recruits promoted in the Alliance and you had requested a meeting with her last week. I thought you'd know about this."

Saren twitched at his words. He kept his encounter with Shepard under wraps, masking the visit to the alliance academy as a spot check. No doubt the Alliance was behind this, thrilled that a Spectre had taken interest in a human. He scoffed, laughing inwardly at the idea of a human ever becoming a Spectre.

"Her pistol was Spectre-grade," Saren explained, "I wanted to know where she got it. That's why I arranged the meeting."

"What?" Nihlus replied, suddenly solemn, "Was it stolen?"

Saren shook his head, "It was just a fake. No doubt a Spectre fanatic," Certainly a fanatic but not for _all_ Spectres.

"She certainly seemed so," Nihlus replied absently.

It took Saren a good minute before he realized what Nihlus implied, "You spoke with her?"

"She was at Chora's Den a few nights ago. Thought I'd ask here where she learned to shoot," Nihlus explained. Not only was Nihlus speaking to this harlot, he was also going back to Chora's Den, Saren was already seething, "She asked a lot about Spectres. You, in particular, I think you have a fan."

Tapping a message to Shepard rapidly: _Stay away from my apprentice, wench_ , "Nihlus, you are a Spectre now. Remember that you have sworn to confidentiality to all matters within the council."

"I know, I know," Nihlus replied, still young at heart but not foolish, "I didn't tell her anything specific, just a few light-hearted stories here and there."

A blip came from his omni-tool: _Jealous_?

Saren barked with laughter, shutting off his tool and turning to a very confused Nihlus, "Forget about her. She's a nobody, just another Alliance rat," He hated when Nihlus dismissed him. He didn't share his hatred towards humanity nor his bloodlust. Nihlus preferred quick wits and minimizing danger, looking down on most methods that required a great sacrifice. Violence was not preferred despite his proficiency, utterly unlike Saren who reveled in brutality. It must have puzzled anyone why Saren would choose Nihlus as his apprentice.

Puzzled everyone, except for two people.

_Humans have a term for him called "Morality chain"._

The tiniest of smirks on his face, unnoticed by Nihlus who prepared to exit the shuttle. Saren shut off his omni-tool when they docked, knowing that he couldn't have any distractions during his mission despite the temptation.

 

The next time he saw Shepard was with Nihlus in the Spectre shooting range. A civilian in a Spectre-authorized shooting range, a _human_ no less, that same, infuriating human now standing by his prized apprentice _corrupting him_ with her poisonous words. It was unacceptable; Saren nearly rushed in and threw the woman out himself. He restrained himself, knowing that Nihlus had done nothing wrong. A Spectre had every right to authorize a soldier to use their shooting range as long as they were properly supervised and didn't have access to a certain stock of weaponry.

But this couldn't stand. Saren would not have this human corrupting his student. He made his way to the only place he knew he'd be able to consistently find Shepard according to Nihlus.

"Arterius," Shepard said, deactivating the screen she was reading from her omni-tool, "Didn't think Chora's Den was your scene."

Saren scoffed at the thought, "Do you come here every night to find Nihlus?"

"It's the only place that hasn't kicked me out," She replied, raising a glass to the Asari bartender, "Did you come here for me?"

"Hardly," Saren hissed, "Whatever poisonous thoughts you plan on planting in Nihlus's naïve head, I've come to put an end to that."

"For the record, Nihlus invited me first to the shooting range," Shepard said, lowering her glass, "You thought no one noticed you?" She stood, shortening the distance between them, "I like Nihlus. He's fun."

She brushed past him when she walked away, her dismissal bitter in Saren's mind. He watched her carefully, noting that she disappeared into the backrooms instead of leaving the bar. It was a taunt, bait to lure him over. Saren should have left but he felt compelled to take the bait, compelled to teach this human her place. He marched across the dance floor, shoving aside an exotic dancer as he pulled back the curtain and entered the back hall, eyeing each room carefully.

All the rooms were shut except for the final one. He narrowed his eyes, marching down, fingers dancing over his pistol. _No_ , this was not worth his firearm. He'd handle this on his own. He stepped into the room, unsurprised that it was empty.

A gun clicked behind him, a barrel touched the back of his fringe, "Arterius," Shepard hummed, utterly pleased that she got Saren to take her bait, "Knew you couldn't resist."

A small chuckle was the only warning Shepard got. A hand came around her wrist, twisting it before pointing the gun towards the ceiling. To Saren's surprise, a shot fired off when he smacked her wrist to the side. _The gun really was loaded._ Intrigued but not distracted, Saren turned and charged backwards, striking her in the stomach to stun her before hurling her onto the desk. He was not surprised with how this turned out. Shepard was the top of her class but still no match against the highest ranking Spectre. Saren smirked, pinning her to the desk by her neck, "Too easy."

Spiting him, Shepard smirked in his face, lips twisted up in almost grotesque amusement as she took hold of his wrist and yanked it forward, locking it in place with both her arms while her legs hooked over his shoulder, shoving him back, _threatening to pull his arm out of its socket._ Snarling, infuriated, Saren fought against the tense pain of tearing muscle and _lifted her with a single arm_ , slamming her back down with an animalistic growl.

Mandibles parted with rage, mouth gaping, a harsh breath hissing through his throat, Saren would have looked terrifying to any other creature. Shepard stared back at him with no fear, face relaxed, eyes half-lidded, _aroused by his violence._ From the heat emanating from Saren's body, searing hot under the black, cloaked uniform he wore off duty, Shepard could tell he felt the same.

"I'll get better next time," Shepard moaned through her teeth, arching her back with a soft moan.

Saren growled at her, trying to suppress the heat inside of him. He struck her across the face, hating how much he _loved_ the scarlet mark he left behind and how the bitch dared to smile back at him, blood spotting her lips and teeth. Enough was enough, he took her by the collar and yanked her forward, crushing their lips together.

Teeth scraping up his lips, his tongue forcing down her own, dominating her yet just barely able to, Saren hadn't been so thrilled in a long time. He pulled away with a hand gripping into her hair, staring into those once dead eyes now filled with fire and heat. He licked his lips, tasting her blood, groaning in the back of his throat. Shepard responded in kind, addicted to Saren's husky voice.

"I'll stay away from Nihlus," Shepard whispered, catching a drop of blood from Saren's mandible with her finger and lapping it up.

Saren smiled, backing off and wiping up the blood on his mouth, "Good girl."

Humans were soft creatures. Saren loved how easy it was to tear through her skin. He hadn't noticed that he had ripped the shoulder of her shirt during the fight. He wondered if she had left any damage on his clothes but didn't bother checking. The woman was aroused, yearning for more, legs parted just for him, but he knew how to play this game. He brushed himself off and backed away, leaving the woman hot, bothered, and unsatisfied.

 

Was he a dirty old man? Saren hardly thought himself as a sleaze. He was still plenty useful and ruthless even if he enjoyed the dirty pictures Shepard would send to him. He chuckled darkly at one featuring the Alliance soldier uniform spread open for Saren to ogle at Shepard's body, bastardizing the Alliance. He figured Shepard cared little for them just as he cared little for the Council, simply conduits for him to demonstrate his ability. Humans were primitive and vile but perhaps Saren could make an exception as long as he kept Shepard under his thumb.

His door slid open, genuinely catching him off guard as he shut off the perverse images and looked to Nihlus who entered unannounced, "What is it?" He growled, voice gruff from arousal and irritation.

Nihlus stared at his mentor curiously. He so rarely lost his temper unless a mission had gone horribly wrong, "Are you alright?"

"Yes, I'm fine. Now what is it?" Saren said, tapping the desk impatiently.

"As a sign of goodwill to the Alliance, the Council is requesting that we send high ranking Spectres to attend the promotion ceremony," Nihlus explained, flawlessly memorizing the message, "You have been specifically requested by the academy to attend this ceremony."

" _Specifically_ ," Saren said, sitting back in his seat and folding his hands over his lap. He had no relations with the human leaders, "Did they mention any reason why I was requested?"

"They said you scouted one of their recruits for potential back when she was still in training," Nihlus remarked, "I imagine they thought you were interested in Shepard when you went to question her about the pistol."

 _Ah,_ so this was her promotion ceremony or at least, one that she was a part of. He dismissed Nihlus, immediately opening up her profile after closing the multitude of images she had sent him. He scanned her mission logs, noting how she actively participated in some of the most vile of missions. Handling slavers, illegal experimentations, Geth infestation, all of which noted that she performed exceptionally save for one caveat that made Saren eager to join the ceremony.

 _Ruthless Efficiency._ Total disregard for collateral damage.

 

"You've been a bad girl," Saren growled in a husky voice, standing in one of the spare offices as Shepard entered.

At her devious smirk, Saren shuddered with excitement, "And here I thought you had a good reason for request to talk to me. Shame on you."

Before Saren could react, her hand flew through the air, striking him hard across the cheek. He was stunned briefly, mouth gaping before choking out laughter and staring at Shepard, loving her audacity, "On the contrary, I had a very important reason," He took her by the hips, walking her backwards into the wall, "You haven't sent me a picture in this uniform yet."

The stark white uniform with badges along her chest, highlighting her promotion to Captain in such a short interval. She laughed in his face, running a hand along Saren's standard pitch black uniform, the only outfit she had seen of him that wasn't armor, "Didn't want to get this dirty before the ceremony."

"Ceremony's over," Saren said, running his hands all over her uniform, "You've teased me long enough, _harlot_. You're not getting away from me this time."

"You started it at Chora's Den," She hissed, scraping a hand through his fringe and gripping into his flesh, "Now be a man and finish it."

Snarling because he knew she liked it, he nearly hurled her into the nearby desk, pinning her onto it, grabbing at either side of her uniform and tearing it open. Badges and buttons scattered on the ground, her pale breasts exposed to him. He sunk his mouth into the supple flesh, loving how Shepard twisted and struggled as he marked her intimately. His tongue lapped out, eagerly tasting every inch of her. He was amused at how such a simple action as suckling on her darkened nipple could make her shudder and squeal.

He towered over her being, nearly shuffling all of her uniform off while he remained fully clothed, the perfect image of submission, "Turn around," He snarled into her ear, "Hands on the desk."

As he desired, she heard the command but refused to go down easily. Legs suddenly crossed themselves around his torso, restraining him as Shepard shoved herself off the desk, all of her weight thrown onto him at once. He stumbled back, trying to balance himself but ending up shoved onto the floor anyway.

"What do you think you're doing?" Saren said in a gruff, husky voice. He took her by the arm, threatening to crush her wrist as he rolled back on top of her, pinning her down with a knee one her stomach, "Humans need to learn their place."

"I know my place well enough," Shepard replied, voice slow and seductive in its ferocity as she stretched her leg forward and shoved it against his groin, chuckling when she found _armor_ under the cloth, "Nothing to be scared of."

Saren barked with laughter, loosening his pitch black robes, "A favourite for enemies when they're desperate," He took her by the wrists, pinning them down and breaking skin with his thumb, "Perhaps you should've considered armour instead," There it was, the dilating of her pupils, that subtle heat in her cheeks, Saren couldn't get enough of it.

Footsteps were heard outside, killing the heat within the room. Both their eyes darted at the door, immediately catching a set of familiar voices. To Shepard, her superiors were outside. To Saren, his Spectre comrades who joined him were no doubt conversing with the Alliance leaders.

" _No_ ," Saren growled, "You are _not_ getting away again," He seethed inwardly, knowing how disgraceful it was to be caught in a position like this, "Damn it," He licked his lips, backing off coldly and fixing his clothes while Shepard's own uniform lay in tatters on the ground. No more interruptions, no more little games, Saren looked to her with absolute conviction ,"Silversun Strip. Penthouse, third floor."

He had to quell the heat inside of him when Shepard smiled back, lips twisted once more in that grotesquely deformed smirk that only made Saren shudder with lust. He watched her don the broken uniform, looking to him once more before climbing out the window skillfully. He shut the window behind her, exiting the room and greeting his comrades with a perfectly composed expression.

 

Excessively extravagant were the words Saren used to describe his personal apartment when it was presented to him by the Council, no doubt bribery in a foolish attempt to keep him in check. The expansive space, pointless décor no doubt inspired by human architecture was in poor taste to Saren. He hadn't found any use for the hot tub or the giant bed until this very day.

The only thing he could say he loved about this apartment was the utter privacy. Miles above the city, sealed off and soundproof to neighbouring apartments. The reflection on his window smiled back at him as he waited patiently for her.

He heard her before he saw her. The crunch of the plush carpet that came before the whir of her gun gave him a second's reaction time. _That idiot girl_ , putting one's gun so close to an opponent's head only gave them an easier position to disarm them, especially when against a physically superior foe. He whipped around, grabbing the barrel, aiming it at the floor while the bullet harmlessly bounced off the bulletproof glass. He loved that she loaded her gun, loved that he was courting death and not playing make-believe. The manic look on her face said the same and just briefly, Saren let his trained persona drop and he returned her psychotic glee.

Saren had his pistol on her before she had a chance to retaliate, _shooting her in the stomach_. She choked out a scream, not crying out pathetically, reducing her voice to a pained grunt. She collapsed to the floor, feeling her body twitch and tremble against her control.

"Relax, it was a training round," Saren remarked, kicking her gun into the corner. He found the bullet she had misfired, pleased that she _hadn't_ bothered with fake rounds, "The Polonium coating it, however, is quite real."

The pain in her stomach was excruciating. Shepard flinched on the ground, extremities becoming numb, her senses heightened tenfold. Saren simply stood there silent, arms crossed behind his back as he watched her writhe in agony, fighting back screams and curses. The pain lasted for what felt like hours to Shepard but were simply minutes according to the clock. As soon as it faded, Shepard found herself unable to move outside of blinking and breathing.

Saren didn't need to say a thing. He took Shepard onto his shoulder and carried her into the bedroom.

 

 _Ah,_ she was regaining her strength. He could tell from how her hands flexed against the sheets, her head tossing backwards when every thrust into her supple body. The wound on her stomach had taken on a lovely shade of purple, speckled with red all along the edges. He nearly laughed amidst his pleasured groans, gripping into her hips so hard that he was sure to be bruising them.

Humans were so soft, so _wet_ , Saren thought he might puncture Shepard if he fucked her too hard. He wondered how she felt, penetrated thoroughly and relentless by a Turian. Could she feel every ridge of his body within her? He purred at the thought, gripping into her shoulder and crushing her into the bed as he continued to watch her face twist in pain and pleasure.

A hand took him by the fringe, scraping down the hard edges of his face before digging into his cheek. Saren growled, turning and nipping the palm against his face. Shepard crooned at the touch, back arching.

"Impressive," Saren murmured, taking hold of her ankles and spreading her legs far apart, "You're performing much better than I anticipated. Perhaps I should have used real rounds after all."

"Ha!" Shepard laughed, voice sounding like a bark as she struggled to focus on him, "Takes more than Polonium," She faded off. Saren nearly thought fainted until she tore her legs from his grip, wrapped them around his torso, and rolled him onto the bed.

Her body was still limp and the jostling nearly threw off the bed but Saren's hands were at her waist, supporting her. Shepard dropped her head onto his shoulder, breathing him, nuzzling her cheek against the metallic hide of his carapace. She exhausted herself with that single movement and felt her consciousness slipping away. Sensing this, Saren took her by the hips and fucked her harder, faster, nearly growling as he neared his climax. His careful, controlled, calculating mind smothered and melted away by this wretched human's heat, like a wildfire consuming him.

Saren was snarling with each thrust, groaning like a beast, matching the rise in Shepard's voice as she whined with ecstasy, babbling nonsensically when she tried to beg Saren for more. In seconds that felt like years, they pushed, pulled, screamed, scraped, a worsening tension between them till it all shattered with one single scream.

Shepard remained perched on Saren, gasping and whining before collapsing onto his rigid form. Saren shut his eyes, savouring it all, voice gruff as he took deep panting breaths. From the softness of Shepard's breath, Saren could tell that she had fallen asleep. Had he the energy, he would've mocked her pathetic human limitations, would have left the bed right then and there to cement his dominance. Instead, he lay her down beside him and dropped down into his bed, shutting his eyes and letting himself doze off.

 

"Thought you would've upped and left me alone."

The light of morning shone through the windows. Leave it to the Alliance constructors to build a giant window facing the direction where the sun came up. Huffing, Saren opened his eyes slowly, pleased to find Shepard upon him, lips touching his, one hand on his forehead.

"Morning, sweetheart," She said in a low and mocking tone as she closed the gap between their lips. She could see Saren's sluggish hand coming up, ready to throw her back onto the bed, "Ah, ah," She hummed, the whirring of a _pistol charging up_ distracting Saren.

The Turian Spectre's eyes immediately shot to his side, eyeing the pistol Shepard had stuck into his ribs. He smirked, his hand coming up to rest on her hip instead, "What do you think your superiors would do if they knew you were fucking a Spectre?"

"My superiors?" Shepard said, her energy returned to her after resting off the poison, "What would _yours_ say?" She ran a hand down his chest, feeling all the crooked angles that came from being a Turian and a veteran soldier. She glided a hand over his shoulder, noting thick, unnatural ridges shape likened to the human scars of a knife wound, "You're not invincible. Pity."

Saren would have remarked had he not been busy admiring how her hands glided down his bare form curiously, revealing inadvertently how unknown Turian physiology was to her. He hummed every time her fingers hitched on a ridge of flesh, scraping against the metallic hide with her nails before finding another place to search.

"You've gotten older," She said, coyly smirking, "I think I prefer the Fornax edition," A hand flew up at her neck. The pistol in her hand whirred once more, "Bad Turian."

A witty remark was on the tip of his tongue but the beeping of his omni-tool distracted them both. He glanced to the side, noting that it was an urgent message from one of the councilmen. He chuckled, amused, before shutting the tool off and returning his hands to Shepard's sides.

"They can handle it," Saren remarked, bellowing with laughter when Shepard tossed the gun away and ravished him on the spot.

 

Meetings were cancelled, missions were delayed, for every seventh day, Saren already had plans, making good use of the apartment gifted to him by fucking his woman against everything he could find. There was no banter between those days. The closest they got to a normal "conversation" were the dirty excursions the two had whenever Saren was in his office.

The Turian Spectre chuckled as he projected his private intercomm before him. The hologram of Shepard was dressed in nothing but the cloak he had left behind in his apartment, twisted loosely around her waist while her breasts were left exposed. Saren stood at his desk, projected as a hologram on Shepard's side of the communication.

"Perhaps you should consider quitting for Fornax Universal," Saren remarked.

"I'm starting to think you miss your days working at Fornax," Shepard replied.

Saren hissed at her words, "Watch your words, girl," His brow rose when Shepard undid his cloak, reclining backwards against a counter and crossing her legs.

"Or what?" Shepard replied, tilting her head back, "I believe you have some Asari Commandos to deal with. Come back later and I'll put on a show for you."

Shuddering with lust, Saren wished he didn't have a meeting to go to in the south council room. Updating his omni-tool while Shepard's hologram still hung around in his office buck naked, a voice came from the door followed by a beeping, requesting entrance into Saren's office.

"Saren Arterius?" The voice was high, feminine, elegant in a way that Shepard knew she'd never be able to mimic, "May I speak with you?"

Unable to deny the order, Saren hastily shut off the intercomm. He smoothed out his clothes and opened the door, watching the Asari waltz in. Saren quickly noted the suit she wore was not one for combat, more like the undersuit before armor was applied. He snorted, quickly realizing what she was planning on doing.

"My name is Rhealla," The Asari introduced herself, letting the door shut behind him, "I know we planned to meet at the board room with the rest of my unit but I wanted to see you first."

Saren narrowed his eyes, "Whatever for?"

The Asari smiled, too innocently, face flushed a darker shade of blue, "You're Saren Arterius. The highest ranked Spectre. I look to you with the utmost respect and…" She faded when Saren lapped at his lips.

"Utmost respect," Saren mimed, forcing his expression to darken with lust by imagining _Shepard_ in her place.

"Perhaps we could continue our conversation at the shooting range?" Rhealla suggested, getting too close, hands nearly gliding over Saren's chest, "It would be such an honour."

It had been decades since Saren was able to play the honeypot. It'd be child's play to retrieve confidential information from this fawning Asari. He was far past his prime as a Turian. He wondered if his sexual relationship with Shepard somehow rekindled his seduction ability. Fetching his omni-tool, he activated his scheduler and promptly shifted the meeting to a later time. He blinked, curious, when he noticed that the intercomm was still active even though the projections were off. He could've sworn he turned it off…

The consequence of his actions did not hit him right away. He noticed Shepard had stopped contacting him for a while. She hadn't shown up at the apartment that night and when Saren was fed up with her silence, he contacted the Alliance Academy and found that she was accepted into an internship by the Council under a Spectre. _Why hadn't Saren heard of this?_

Inside his office, well into the night shift after a lengthy mission with the Asari Commandos, Saren angrily hacked into Shepard's computer. The documents were easy enough to find, authorization to allow an Alliance representative to shadow a Spectre.

The notion was absolutely nonsense. Shepard was talented but by no means at the same level of a Spectre. She would only get in the way on high priority missions. Saren scanned through the documents, unable to find a name. No doubt whoever she was shadowing had to be an amateur, a Spectre well past his prime or so green, they'd fit right in on Eden-

"Fuck," Saren cursed, slamming his fist onto the desk, knowing _exactly_ who Shepard requested.

 

The vessels in his brain were threatening to burst inside his skull. Saren stood on his side of the shooting range, loading up an assault rifle and firing perfectly aimed shots into the target before him while his eyes were focused to his left watching _Nihlus_ and _his_ woman sharing a target. He had to keep it subtle, keep his eyes on the target, swapping out guns to distract himself, but every time he thought he was in the clear, _Shepard would laugh_ , she'd make a coy remark, she'd make an expression utterly unlike the temptress he took to his bed.

From his distance, he could hear Shepard prattling on about some pointless story, getting caught sneaking in alcohol during mock raid, seething when he heard Nihlus chuckle along and talk about how he nearly agreed with Fornax to do a cover story for him after his promotion to Spectre. Saren didn't know who infuriated him more, his vengeful woman or his idiot apprentice. Had Saren not seen the hatred and emptiness that swelled inside her being, writhing in bed and voracious for violence, he might have fallen for her paragon act.

 _Her eyes,_ Saren noted, empty and dead despite the jovial expression and animated gestures.

However, that didn't mean he was any less pissed at how friendly both of them were getting. It was odd, seeing Shepard with someone closer to her age. Saren was many years older than her, already a senior member of the Spectres when he first saw her on Mindoir, a frail teenage girl. If anything, Nihlus was far closer to her age, young and pliant to the changing Council, especially in the inclusion of the human Alliance. Nihlus and Shepard looked…correct, together. The thought was nothing short of maddening.

Saren was flat-out staring at them when Shepard rested a hand on Nihlus's shoulder, a reassuring, mutual pat that sent Saren in a fit of jealousy. Shepard had picked up one of the Spectre-grade anti-tank rifles, a beast of a gun that she clearly knew she'd be unable to wield without proper support, support Nihlus was eager to give, lining up along her body with his hands rested intimately to support the gun. When they fired it, the bang loud enough to deafen anyone without hearing protection, Saren snarled at how the recoil _seemingly_ pushed Shepard into Nihlus's chest.

And for that brief moment, with Shepard against Nihlus, his hands on her shoulders to support her, Shepard's eyes darted upward and met Saren's with a twisted, self-satisfied smirk. Honestly, Saren would have come right then and there if he wasn't so damn infuriated.

He picked up a second assault rifle, a bigger, experimental model which still hadn't been properly balanced. The recoil would be a pain in his old limbs but Saren paid it no mind, anything to not let Shepard get the satisfaction of seeing him simmer with jealousy.

"What are you doing with this Alliance trash?"

Saren's eyes darted to the left once more, eyeing an auburn-hided Turian with a cybernetic arm. Atlas, if Saren remember correctly, he joined relatively the same time as he did but while Saren flourished, Atlas met a ceiling in terms of efficiency. The scar on Atlas's face, his tattered armour that he was far too stubborn to upgrade, an outdated weapon used in the field kept out of sentiment even when it was clearly poorly managed. Saren could see a hundred points to criticize this middle-class Spectre but _Shepard remained quiet._ The girl played meek, respectful of her superiors, simply loading the next pistol while Nihlus fought her battle for her.

"She's my intern under council order," Nihlus announced.

"Intern? They're letting Spectres take in humans as pets now?" Atlas snorted, "What has the Council degenerated into? Next you'll tell me a Hanar will become the next Spectre. Won't that be a laugh?"

"Watch your tongue," Nihlus barked.

Heated up, Atlas charged forward to tower over Nihlus, "Respect your elders, boy. You're only here because you've been sucking on Saren's-"

" _Excuse me_ ," Saren hissed, voice low and mechanical. For once, Shepard and Nihlus genuinely shared the same reaction as Atlas froze in terror, the spines on his back stiffening in fear, "I believe you were talking about _respect_ ," Atlas had nothing to say, his mouth clamped shut, "I suspect why your apprentices never make it to Spectre level is because you judge them based on whether they're Asari and how likely they're willing to," Saren cleared his throat loudly, " _Attend_ to your needs."

Shepard swallowed once, her pupils dilating, cheeks flushed when Saren noticed and raised a brow.

"Run along now, Atlas. The Council will call on you when the lavatories need cleaning again," Saren said, glaring straight into Atlas's core and smirking as the Spectre ran off.

Nihlus cleared his throat loudly, trying to diffuse the electricity in the air, "Thanks. I figured there'd be some friction during this internship."

Saren eyed Shepard, filled with hatred that Nihlus didn't understand. He assumed it was his mentor's usual demeanor, his hatred towards humanity well-known throughout all Spectres. Nihlus cleared his throat once more, "You remember Shepard, right?" Nihlus said.

"Of course. That Alliance rookie-turned-captain," Saren replied, eyes never once leaving Shepard's face, "Nihlus, an unexpected assignment appeared on my desk this morning. I won't be able to attend a mission briefing with the Asari Commandos in the afternoon. Can I ask you to go in my place and report back afterwards?"

Unable to reject an order from his mentor, Nihlus gave him a quick nod and salute, "Of course."

"The nature of the meeting is _confidential_. Since I will be in my office, perhaps I can keep your intern company," Saren said, once again, eyes not leaving Shepard throughout the entire conversation.

None-the-wiser, Nihlus agreed to this even when Saren's eyes flared with lust and Shepard returned the look. All of Saren's twitches whenever Shepard would rest a hand on Nihlus, explicitly flirt with no tact or wit whatsoever, telling stories that belonged to frat boys on Earth, Shepard swore to memorize each and every reaction so she could play it back in her head during a lonely night.

"Come along, Shepard," Saren said, voice low, arms crossed behind his back.

 

"I guess I should cancel the internship then, right?" Shepard groaned, gripping into the fringe of Saren's head as he pressed his face into the crook of her neck.

" _No_ , keep the internship. I want you at arm's reach whenever I need an excursion," He replied, nipping at her neck harshly, fully intent on paying her back for seducing Nihlus. Breaking skin with the sheer force of his grip, Saren shoved Shepard into the desk with all his strength, threatening to _bruise her spine_ from the sheer force.

Shepard crooned, gripping into Saren's shoulders tightly while he ravaged her body, "H-Hey," She gasped out when he rolled her onto her stomach, bending her over and fucking her from behind. She groaned, twitching with pain from the insufficient lubricant Saren had used, "You started it with that Asari-!" She threw her head back, crying out in a high voice when Saren took her by the hair and angled himself just right.

"Much better," Saren groaned, keeping his grip on her hair, loving the arch of her spine, "That Asari was strictly business."

"So was this," Shepard snapped back, Saren catching her smirk when she twisted her head around to catch him in the corner of her eye, "Maybe I'm not doing this to spite you. Maybe I wasn't trying to _fuck your apprentice_ to get your attention," She gasped when she was rolled onto her back once more, Saren lifting her up and slamming her _hard_ onto the warmed surface. Saren's lips found hers, chewing and wrestling till both of them were drawing blood. She looped her arms around his head, pulling him in, "Maybe I'll become the first human Spectre."

Saren laughed in her face, spittle purposely flying into her cheek, "As if your degenerate kind could ever make it in," His hips snapped up quickly, his cock burrowed deep inside of her and twitching from the intense heat swallowing him, "I hate that face you were making."

Shepard hummed curiously, twisting her shoulder back, teething at Saren's mandibles, "What face?" She purred when Saren pressed her knee to her body, angling himself better.

"Those ridiculous stories you were telling Nihlus, that laugh you kept faking, playing the damsel when Atlas confronted you," Saren cut himself off with a shudder when Shepard ran her tongue over his face, lapping at his brow before nipping it gently, "That look in your eyes like a corpse."

"I said I'd put on a show for you. Never said you'd enjoy it," Shepard purred into his ear, scraping her teeth against the side of his head. Shepard lifted Saren's head and pressed forward till their noses touched, "What about my eyes now?"

Saren stared into them unblinkingly, lost just as she was lost in his. Drowning in two pools of poison, smoke, death, hatred, bloodlust, what they both thrived on unashamedly but most importantly, Shepard looked _alive_ , her eyes filled with life just as Saren's did every time Shepard came to him.

Only when he thought about it did he realize how needy he was. He drove his hips upward, snapping them faster and faster till both of them came seconds apart, both of them tossing their heads back with a shout, collapsing onto the desk with their life-filled eyes shutting. Saren needed her and he knew that Shepard needed him as well.

"Arterius," Shepard murmured, stroking the side of his face as if he were a cat.

_I love you._

"Shepard," Saren replied, pushing himself up so he no longer crushed her.

_I love you too._

Cleaning themselves off with a spare towel, Shepard left the office first, her expression once again eager, excited, and dead as she returned to her masquerade. Saren remained in his office, licking his lips and reclined in his seat.

 

"Loaded my gun with Polonium rounds. Should've seen the look on their faces," Saren said, toying with his pistol while Shepard lay on his chest, tracing the ridges of his gun with her finger, "Those Batarian pirates were wiped out. You would've enjoyed it."

Shepard purred, twisting back erotically and moaning just as he liked it, laying one palm over his chest as she followed the lines of the gun down Saren's wrist, "I just came."

Saren barked with laughter, dropping his gun and taking Shepard's chin, "Such a vulgar woman."

"I hope those bastards suffered," She said, nipping lightly at Saren's thumb.

Saren smiled but not for the reason she would have thought. It was utterly amusing how simple Shepard's mind was, swearing revenge on all Batarians for the actions of the slavers on Mindoir, dreaming up the most sadistic of ends for her enemies, imagining the slavers who took her family in their place instead. All of this knowledge belonged only to Saren and he thrived on it.

"Head burst into twenty pieces," Saren cooed too affectionately, "Couldn't even identify him after," His eyes shone when Shepard climbed onto his lap. He licked his lips, eager to continue, indulging the darkness and heat inside them both, "Shame though, they had hoped to interrogate someone for answers."

"Won't the Council get on your case about this?" Shepard said, rocking her hips slowly against Saren's.

Saren scoffed in reply, toying with her thighs before squeezing her ass, "Those fools don't care as long as I bring them results. They don't control me."

"Who does?" Shepard asked, coy, brow lifting in an infuriatingly seductive manner.

Saren swallowed his whine, huffing once before shutting his jaw in a deadly smirk, "No one," He reached forward, toying with Shepard's left breast, pinching it lightly, "Don't you agree?"

Without hesitation, Shepard climbed over him and whispered, "Yes," She ran a hand over his neck, still utterly fascinated by a Saren's unique physiology, "How about you tell me how you became a Spectre? I'm sure that story's interesting."

 

"People are staring," Shepard said, taking off her reading glasses and placing her book onto the table. Saren lowered his brow, examining the most peculiar image of Shepard in glasses reading something that didn't come from her omni-tool, "It's a book."

"I know what a book is," Saren snapped back, sitting back in the cheap dining chair and sipping on a light energy beverage, "Didn't think _you_ knew what it was."

A scoff, Shepard took a sip of coffee before tucking her reading glasses away, "We look like we're on a date."

Saren figured this was the case, scanning the café and noticing how everyone was staring at him, amazed that such an infamous Spectre was dining in their quaint café on the Citadel, "I guess I should start talking about stealing beer and pretending that I don't know how to shoot a rifle."

"Sounds boring," Shepard replied, crossing her legs, "Couldn't this wait till Silversun Strip?"

"I'd prefer to get this off my plate as soon as I can," Saren replied, tapping at his omni-tool twice as Shepard's own tool beeped twice.

She looked down, eyes narrowed as she examined her private dossiers and missions logs, "It's a perfect record. I don't see what he was trying to prove."

"Perfect but ruthless, a total disregard for collateral damage, and unless you're a Spectre, you wouldn't be getting away with it. I should know, Atlas tried to paint my achievements as war crimes," He replied, "Do what you will with those files. They're completely removed from the Spectre system."

Pleased, Shepard stood from the table, nodding her goodbye, "See you later, Arterius."

"Shepard," Saren said in reply, "Nice shot by the way."

"What are you talking about?" Shepard replied, that twisted, grotesque smile on her face once more, "I missed his head."

 

Shepard's internship prematurely came to an end. Saren only heard of it when Nihlus had spoke with him on their way to a mission. Oddly enough, Saren had absolutely no idea this had happened. He half-expected someone would contact him when dealing with Nihlus's affairs. He doubt Atlas figured out who his assailant was, all proof was erased from the databases.

"You wanted to see me, Councilor Sparatus?" Saren announced as he entered the Turian Councilor's office. Returning from a mission left him weary but still capable. He was curious why Sparatus was contacting him at such a precarious time.

Sparatus did not look amused. Saren braced himself for another scolding on the deadly efficiency of his work ethic, "You're getting sloppy, Saren."

"Excuse me?" Saren replied, fighting the urge to growl.

"Your performance has been lacking in these last few months. You've been missing briefings, missing calls, disappearing off the face of the Citadel every week. Your unit says you've become overly aggressive, violent, sloppy. You're distracted," Sparatus said, standing at his desk with a steely resolve.

Saren swallowed his rage, replying in a tranquil manner, "Certainly with my record, I can be excused for a few shortcomings."

"Do you take me for a fool, Saren?" Sparatus exclaimed suddenly, hitting the desk with his fist, "Do you think we don't know of that Alliance woman you keep as a pet?" Saren stiffened at the remark, honestly surprised that Sparatus had found out, "Surprised, Saren? That we've been keeping tabs on you since the drop in your performance?"

Saren remained silent, knowing that Sparatus would not be bluffing.

"Your Silversun Strip apartment has been seeing some use every week and it just so happens to coincide perfectly whenever you disappear from contact," Sparatus said, pointing out Saren's flaws, knowing how much the Spectre hated that, "Do you think no one sees you sneaking off with that wench? Even Nihlus admit that you've sent him off on trivial tasks just to take Shepard away from his supervision."

"I don't believe my personal life is any of your business," Saren's voice neared a snarl.

"It becomes my business when your performance becomes dismal," Sparatus retorted, "I've cancelled her internship program and sent her back to the Alliance. To keep her busy, I've persuaded the Alliance to assign her to Torfan. She was eager to join the cause."

 _Torfan._ The Batarian Criminal Stronghold, the central hub for all sorts of criminal activity: Slavery, body trafficking, bio-weapon distribution, sellswords, assassins, drug trafficking. Saren himself was disgusted by the briefing, hoping that _he_ would be assigned to such a moon so he could wipe it from existence himself. He doubt even Nihlus could handle the stronghold, not because of a lack of skill but rather, a lack of resolve. Some things are so vile in the world, not even the most powerful soldier could stomach it. And now _Shepard_ was being thrown head first into this.

"Shepard is inadequate to handle this-"

"Don't try to talk your way out of this, Arterius," Sparatus boomed, silencing him, "Shepard _will_ go to Torfan. You _will_ remove this distraction from your life. Do I make myself clear?" He let out a short, mocking chuckle, "Unless, of course, you're suggesting Shepard is not the reason for your abysmal performance. You're getting old, after all, perhaps we should instead consider a retirement package for you."

Snarling, Saren whipped his hands across Sparatus's desk, barely flinching when the heavy glass model of the Citadel crashed onto the floor and shattered into pieces. Lips bared, mandibles parted, Saren's breath came out harsh and heavy, glaring down at Sparatus who stared at him wide-eyed but notably, not scared.

Saren was above this. He was not going to take this from Sparatus. He stormed out of the office, damning that fool of a Councilor. Grumbling under his breath, jaw clicking with every huff he made, Saren had absolutely no intention of ending his affair with Shepard. Sparatus was a moron to think _she_ exerted control over him. She belonged to Saren, submitted to him, would lay in his lap every week _begging_ for his touch, never the other way around. To even suggest that she exerted any sort of power over him was sacrilegious, doubly so when Sparatus questioned his ability. _Absolute garbage._ A part of him wondered why he kept serving this idiot council.

Torfan though, that was still an issue. To send anyone who wasn't seasoned or gifted was a suicide mission. He fully expected that was Sparatus's intention. He wouldn't let Sparatus have that satisfaction, let him send Shepard off without Saren's consent. Shepard belonged to him and he wouldn't let anyone take her away.

"Don't take the mission to Torfan," Saren said, voice low, sitting in Chora's Den with Shepard at a far table.

Shepard didn't speak. Saren waited patiently for her reply, "I have to," Saren scowled, fingers digging into her wrist under the table.

"I wasn't asking," Saren snarled.

"It's a Batarian Criminal Stronghold," She said, "You know more than anyone why I have to do this."

He slammed his free hand down on the table, pressing forward to breathe in her air, "Don't be so stupid. Do you honestly think these Batarians are the same ones that raided your home?"

"Of course they're not!" Shepard shouted back, refusing to back down.

"Then you base your hatred on an entire race due to the actions of a few exceptional cases?" Saren hissed, mouth opening to continue but being cut off by his unruly woman.

"Isn't that the same for you?" Shepard hissed back.

"You are a bigger fool than-" Saren paused, blinking twice, taking in Shepard's words, "What did you say?"

For the first time since Saren had ever seen Shepard, the usually unfeeling woman looked _scared_ , "You… despise humanity because you lost your brother Desolas to them at Shanxi. So don't talk to me about-" Her breath hitched, she grunted in pain. Saren had snapped his hand so tightly around her wrist, she swore something must've snapped in it.

"How? How do you know? His voice had dropped into a disturbingly low pitch.

"R-Research," Shepard grunted, grabbing at his wrist and prying him off, "I know plenty about you."

 _Unacceptable, she was meant to know nothing._ He knew all about her past, knew what she loved, the origin of her hatred, knew where everything that made Shepard who she was came from. It was meant to be one-way, meant to be a power dynamic, but Shepard shut him down hard.

 _Desolas. Shanxi._ Saren's breath came out as a growl. He threw the table to the ground, tackling Shepard backwards into a wall, knocking out her breath with the first impact before pinning her onto the floor. He stared at her, not sure if he wanted to rip her throat out or fuck her senseless in the middle of Chora's Den. He took her by the chin, staring into her eyes, wondering if the life would fade from them when faced with Saren's anger.

Deep down, past the fire and heat, past the poison and smoke, Saren could see it: A pain deep down in her soul that was the same as the one deep down in his. Perhaps that's why it all began, not because of Mindoir, not because of their sinful tastes, but the cold, heavy pain of loss and the unrelenting grudge that came after.

 _Don't go to Torfan. I don't want you to die._ Those words could never be. Saren's anger passed, he lowered himself and pressed his mouth to hers, ravishing her lips in a passionate kiss that barely touched on violent. Uncaring of the eyes upon them, wrestling on the floor shamelessly, so desperate to wreck her and love her at the same time. Shepard was infuriating; Shepard was heartless; it was everything a monster like Saren wanted.

"Don't go to Torfan," He finally said, unraveling his own clothes, yanking down Shepard's pants hastily, jerking at himself. Fuck the Council. Fuck Sparatus. Saren needed this and he didn't care if he had to burn everything he had to the ground, "I don't want you to…"

…Saren turned away from Shepard, seeing everyone around him, watching, horrified, some laughing behind their backs at the prestigious, highest ranking Turian Spectre who was screwing a human in public. Memories of his missions became clear to him, slaughtering hostages while they still had value, opting the most violent route and dismissing subordinates who disagreed, _purposely missing vital points when shooting_ so he could watch his enemy writhe on the ground in pain. All of this just to peak Shepard's interests when he'd talk about his missions.

_I don't want you to die._

Before Saren was even aware, Shepard had taken control of his life. He looked back down on her, head ticking to the side, knowing that she was confused as well. Unlike her, or perhaps exactly like her, he had a lifetime of accomplishments to uphold. He couldn't let her rule his mind, couldn't let himself throw it all away despite his insistence, his _desperation_ , to do so seconds before with their bodies pressed tightly together.

He snarled, frustrated, despising himself, despising Shepard as he punched the ground, arm trembling from the force. He was panting, his rage exhausting him. He fixed his clothes and stormed out, unable to bear her existence anymore. Since when did those dead eyes hold such power over him?

 

**Two months later…**

 

_"Call from Councilor Sparatus."_

Saren placed his pistol down, fiddling with a panel to retract the test dummy he had been shooting at. Stepping through the retracting glass, Saren answered the call from his comm room, "Councilor Sparatus," He greeted the hologram before him.

"Saren," The Councilor said, "It has been more than two months since we've spoken. How is life in Argos Rho?"

Living in a lone shuttle, taking low-profile, tedious missions in the utterly inferior galaxy, Saren knew the Councilor was mocking him, proud of his victory against Saren's pride. However, without Shepard within reach, he couldn't deny that there was a certain _clarity_ in his actions once more.

"Good," Saren replied, "I trust you contacted me with something more important than a simple hello."

"Simply checking in. I'd like to mention that your performance is once again stellar. The Council has decided to allow your return to the Citadel. It is in our best interests to have the highest ranked Spectre back at HQ," Sparatus said, too quick to let his guard down, "See, Saren? Once that Alliance whore was out of the picture, your efficiency and worth skyrocketed once more."

Saren's hand twitched, his spine stiffened, but through the hologram, Sparatus would never know, "Understood. I will make my way back as soon as I can."

"Very good, Saren. You are dismissed."

The call shut off. Saren maintained his tranquil fury, fully aware of why Sparatus was calling him back now of all times. He marched into the cockpit, autopilot still functioning while he pulled out the latest records on his main computer.

The Alliance Raid against Torfan had ended _in victory._ A month of agonizing war, crippling defeat, messages coming back and intercepted by the Council, detailing the utter failure of the humans against the Batarian slavers. And then, one week ago, all communications ceased. The Alliance labelled it a total defeat. Two days ago, a message came back to the Alliance. Reinforcements rushed in to confirm the results. The war was over; the Alliance had _won_.

The pyrrhic victory was attributed to one soldier and Saren already knew who it had to be. The epithet came to him first, however: _The Butcher of Torfan._ Such a decoratively vile name. Saren took a step back, taking in this horrific tale that ended with a victory perfect for his mirror opposite. A week ago, even though Saren thought he had finally regained control, the deepest, darkest part of him wanted to go to Torfan, wanted to find Shepard alive or dead.

 _No, not again._ He couldn't let her rule his thoughts, couldn't let her exert control. Yet, he was going back to the Citadel, what for? To be a lapdog? He needed this. Needed to see her once more even if it'd all crumble afterwards. He knew she'd need him now more than ever, someone to share her pain, share her _desires._

Nihlus was the first to greet him when he returned to the Citadel. His young apprentice had made quite a name for himself and he was excitedly describing a fight against an Asari Justicar who hunted him to the ends of the galaxy. Saren acknowledged the story, approved of his skill, but promptly shut the door on his apprentice and made his way into the heart of the Citadel. Tapping twice on his omni-tool, there was no doubt that this was where Shepard moved in after leaving the academy. He eyed the simple-looking building, finding Shepard's apartment at the end of the hall.

The door was still open. It reeked of alcohol and smoke. If the reports were right, she simply charged off the ship before anyone could attend to her and all those on board were too afraid. Saren stepped inside without any hesitation, eyeing pieces of armor haphazardly tossed on the ground. The closer he got, the more he could smell the tanginess of blood mixing with everything else.

He saw her sitting against the wall, pistol still in hand, pointed upward at the ceiling. That once expressive face that Saren had awakened was gone, faded back to the emotionless shell with _dead eyes_. She knew he was in the room, Saren could tell by the way her finger twitched when he took a step forward, but she didn't look at him.

"It's true," She whispered, voice raspy and weak, "Everything they say is true."

 _Torfan_ , a catastrophic failure had it not been for their ruthless _butcher_ , knowingly sacrificing the majority of her unit to succeed and when the prisoners begged for their lives after slaughtering her team, without anyone of power to hold her back, she murdered every last one of those Batarian slavers. _The Butcher of Torfan,_ such an extravagantly despicable name. Saren did not flinch when all of HQ was buzzing with this horrific news.

"It's what I would have done," Saren said, "You did good."

She looked to him, sudden, not fearful but confused, tormented despite knowing that if she had another chance to redo her mission, she would not have changed a thing. It was a feeling Saren knew all too well the day he became a Spectre and started his ruthless streak, in shock at the vulgarity of how much he _enjoyed_ his actions. His brother would be there to sit him down and put him back together.

The apartment was barren, lifeless, the lair of a lone wolf, "No friends?"

Shepard _laughed_ before she shook her head, "You know what happened to them."

If he were here to help her through this, he would have sat down beside her, would've let her rant on about her pain and conflict, but Saren was no such person. He remained standing, once again towering over her, watching as she flickered in and out of catatonia.

"It gets easier," Saren said, "First time is the worst and you'll keep telling yourself that it was the only way to get results. It's not. There's always another way," He watched her, saw, just briefly, weakness in her eyes, "And in time, you'll realize you do this because you want to. It gets results, yes, but it also _feels good_ to _put a bullet_ between the eyes of a Batarian Slaver or a Human Fanatic."

"It does," Shepard whispered. Saren lifted his head, proud that Shepard found her way back to her feet, stinking of blood, metal, liquor, and smoke, "It's better than any feeling in the world."

Saren wanted to laugh. In his barren, lonely world, he had found another just as empty and twisted as him, " _Any_ feeling?" He said, licking his lips as he took hold of Shepard's neck, wrestling her forward.

She planted her hands on his shoulders, pushing him back briefly, "Wait. I stink of blood."

Taking her wrists and pinning her to the wall, the fire in her eyes returning once more and threatening to burn Saren into cinders, Saren huskily replied, "I don't mind."

Wrestling each other onto the floor, motions so jerky, so violent, one could easily mistake their romp as something vicious. Blood was shed between them, fingers scratching, hands shoving, Saren using his superior size to wrestle the fleshy woman to the ground, bruising her, scraping her just as much as she burrowed into him with her nails and teeth.

Unyielding and ruthless, revelers of violence and hatred, uncaring of what the universe thought of them as long as they could get the job done. _Renegades, monsters that would shake the world_ , it was the only way to describe them. If the two had their way, without laws to restrict them, without barriers to their strength, Saren and Shepard could destroy the universe if they wanted to, would throw away all they had now to live as renegades drunk on lawlessness that came with efficiency.

That was why when the fire faded, when the room was starting to cool, when Shepard, exhausted by her mission and physically weaker due to the limitation of her species, lay on the ground shivering with lust and want while Saren lay on top of her, bearing into her with his sharp joints and rough skin, still burrowed deep inside of her, whispered into her hair, "We can't do this."

Too similar, understanding him too well, Shepard replied, "I know," She stroked the side of his face, _her other half_ whom she could never truly have, "I'll see you again."

She never saw Saren again till the day they met as enemies.

 

**Years without him passed …**

 

The metal twisting throughout his body, the synthetic arm grafted to his shoulder. Shepard shuddered as she gazed at the hologram of Saren, disturbed by the implants he had received. Worst of all, his eyes were a different colour, a sharp blue that was only achievable through synthetics. What the hell had happened to him? Last she saw him, he was laying on top of her in her apartment, his flesh hot to the touch and his eyes a terribly soft colour despite his cold demeanor.

The council meeting ended horribly, as Shepard and Anderson both anticipated. Humanity was still a fledging influence within the universe and their entire case was based off the story of a traumatized human worker with no credentials to his name.

On top of all of that, Shepard could not find the strength to concentrate. In those years since Torfan, Shepard fell under the command of Anderson who lifted her from her solitude, showed her a happier, brighter path, taught her not to fear her hardships and lash out violently. _Saren brought it all back._ Gazing at her reflection on a polished wall, she could see the emptiness staring back at her, _dead eyes._

Yet, that wasn't Saren. Bursting with metal tubs, implants, his skin a sheen of silvery metal and blue mechanical light, there was something wrong with him.

She gazed over her shoulder, noting how Kaiden and Ashley were speaking with Anderson. None of them knew the truth between her and Saren. All but one other, Shepard's eyes flickered to the Council as they exited the meeting hall and marched their way to another meeting. Sparatus looked her way, filled with spite which she gladly returned. If she thought about it, could she really be angry at him? If he hadn't forced her away from Saren, she could've been implanted and brainwashed just as Saren was.

Lost in her thoughts, Shepard realized she had been dodging the greatest question: How was she going to fight Saren? How would this all end?

 

"Goodbye Shepard. Thank you."

"Implanted to strengthen his resolve," Shepard whispered, standing at the control panel, staring down at the grass beneath him where Saren lay, head blown to chunks of metal and flesh amongst a sea of shattered glass.

A stoicism she thought she had finally cast aside returned to her, eyes narrowing, losing their life and soul. _Dead eyes_ , just like Saren's were now even lost in the implants he had received. _This wasn't how it was supposed to be._ Yet here they were, amongst the rubble of the Citadel, Saren dead beneath her while comrades came to her aid. She had no friends; she wasn't supposed to. _Just Saren._

Garrus and Wrex rushed forward, looking down at the glass and taking in the carnage. Garrus looked to his commander for their next move, stunned when he noticed the hateful expression on his leader's face.

"Make sure he's dead," Shepard said, voice low, empty. She hadn't the stomach to do it herself.

As she stood by the console, hearing her companions leap to the garden below and examine Saren's mutilated corpse, she couldn't stop thinking about the countless times Saren tried to convince her to join him, how easy it would have been to finally ditch the hero act and become the monster she truly was. Heroes don't do the things that she did. Heroes don't let Councils perish out of spite. Yet here they were, Saren dead beneath her and Shepard thriving with the power of the Citadel backing her.

Shepard winced at the gunshot, thinking about the woman she used to be, the woman she still was, her violent streak and cruelty bleeding through here and there despite her duties as a charismatic leader, an icon for future humans to follow. A renegade forced into a paragon's job. The secret of her past, the true Shepard, a violent and hateful extremist, died along with Saren.

"He's dead," Garrus said, lowering his pistol.

Shepard nearly discarded her past till the Citadel began to shake. Her companions stumbled, flinching as red hot energy filled the air. The air became warm; Shepard nearly lost her balance upon the control panel station. Her eyes immediately caught the particles twisting into bolts of energy, _surging into Saren's body._ She gasped, the core of her being shaken, as what remained of her past was twisted and mutilated beyond reason. _Saren's voice_ , in that lifeless crisp that was his body, grunted and wailed in pain as red light ignited his flesh and seared the garden around him. Red haze covered the body, covered her companions, filling the room with an abnormal heat that violated their core.

Before Shepard could comprehend what was going on, Saren's body erupted in an explosion. Garrus and Wrex were thrown to the floor, bodies crackling with excess energy. Barely able to catch herself, the control platform shattered, sending Shepard tumbling down the bridge and onto the grass amongst her comrades.

Her eyes flickered up, as difficult as it was to watch, she forced herself to memorize every detail. Saren's corpse had stood up, his entire body seeping with red hot energy like lava breaking through cold stone. His eyes were burned out from his skull. He was being incinerated from the inside out. It wasn't enough that he was dead, now he was mutilated, humiliated, _just like Mindoir._

_The bodies of her family skinned, raped, and hung on display for daring to fight back against slavers._

The anger returned, the hateful pit at the base of her stomach that wrecked and tormented her for decades until Anderson taught her how to find her peace. She watched with _dead eyes_ , filled with nothing but vengeance, spite, disgust, all of what she used to be tenfold.

Saren's flesh exploded from his body, crumbled to pieces on the ground. The stench was the worst. The scream that came with it was just as bad. Shepard stood, staring into two sockets filled with inhuman light. The remnants of Saren's skull remained upon the mechanical monstrosity birthed from Saren's body like a grotesque trophy.

All of his grace, his tactical skill, melted away into a deformed, animalistic corpse that crawled around the station like a demented lizard. Shepard drew her pistol; it was all she would need.

"I am Sovereign and this station is _mine_."

"Not today," Shepard hissed, breaking free of the mental restraints Anderson had once imposed on her and turning back into who she truly was.

When they were done, there wasn't even a corpse left behind to bury.

 

**When the end comes…**

 

This was not a time for compromise, not a time for fabricated peace. The creature before her, somehow made of light and air in the vacuum of space, offered her three choices to save the universe. End the war, stop the reapers, by _its terms_ , not the universe's. Her arm shook as she lifted her gun, pointing it at the boy's head, quivering as she tried to squeeze the trigger but found herself unable to.

"Is submission not preferable to extinction?"

Those poisonous words were not _his_. Even now, the latent hatred and desire for revenge remained. Two monsters filled with hate, mercilessly efficient, unable to sate themselves in any way but warfare, they could never settle for submission. She felt the trigger at her finger, squeezing, but each and every time she pulled away. There was no room for monsters like her when Reapers roamed the universe. The people needed a hero, needed peace.

Shepard lowered the pistol, looking straight ahead, _submitting._

"The relationship is symbiotic."

Shepard muttered to herself as she approached the tower of green light standing stark against the darkness of space.

"Organic and machine."

She stopped at the edge, watching the energy violently twist and emanate from the core. Add her energy to the crucible, create a new, synthesized DNA, one of both synthetic and organic basis.

"The strengths of both. The weaknesses of neither."

She stumbled, nearly falling in before she was ready. This was what Saren wanted but failed, falling victim to the Reapers and letting them rip his mind and body to shreds. Fearlessly, she pushed herself forward and threw herself into the light. Unbelievable _power_ coursed through her body, a sensation unlike anything she had ever felt, beyond human interpretation, flooded every sense. She saw her flesh burning away, assimilating with the energy, and soon enough, she could feel the light as if it were her own limbs.

Those she had lost, those she had loved, flashed through the last few seconds of her life before she was gone, absorbed by the crucible and pulsing through the universe as life force.

" _Saren_ , I'll see you again."

Her last memory before her existence turned into energy, where it all began, a bloodied, broken girl standing in an alley as a pistol was tossed in front of her, a pistol she held onto even when she was once again bloodied and broken with the weight of the universe on her shoulders.

"Pick it up."

She did. And she never put it down.


End file.
